


The day the sun disappeared

by angededesespoir



Series: JeanMarco Week [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: There comes a day when the sun sets and forgets to rise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 4- Rain/Sunset. Can also be read [here](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/152245297560/the-day-the-sun-disappeared).

It is sunset and they’re sitting on a hill near training grounds. Dinner isn’t for a couple of hours; tomorrow they get the day off. And this? This is becoming tradition, a part of the routine- one of the few they look forward to. 

They are huddled close, dropping temperatures, changing seasons, soft breeze, sending chills through them. (Marco stifles the urge to envelope Jean’s hand with his own. He knows that it is more than the growing cold that makes him want to do this. Has known for a long time. He has the same urges in the summer, after all.) 

He listens to Jean intently, the way he rants about Eren; the way he talks excitedly, confidently, about his- their- plans; the way he gets that far away look, a frown etching its’ form onto his face, as he talks about the fate of humanity, the words, dreading to be spoken, dwindling into silence.

Marco leans more heavily against his shoulder, tries to drag him back to the present.

“Think of all the good we’ll be able to do, serving the king.”

Jean smiles and chuckles. “Still playing at goody-two shoes, eh?” He ruffles Marco’s hair, playfully. “You know, we’re alone- you can drop the act.”

Marco smiles, turns his eyes from Jean to the sun, disappearing behind a mountain.

He snuggles closer, and Jean wraps an arm around him.

“One day we’ll be MPs, Jean. I’ll follow wherever you lead.”

-

The rain douses the remaining embers. All that is left is sickening stench and burnt slivers of bone- anonymous, soon to be forgotten.

There is exhaustion and anger and guilt and _dread_. _‘Of all people.....Why him? Why in that way?’_

Jean still clutches a piece of bone in trembling hand. He is down on his knees, mud staining white cloth- _not even that can remain pure_. Everyone else left ages ago.

And yet he is still here, trying to figure it out. The worst part is not knowing. _‘Why? How? Why not me? .....Are these bones even yours?’_

If it had worked out as it should, if it had been any other day, Marco would be at his side, making sure the cold never pierced him, never got the chance. He would help him dry his hair, fetch a new uniform from the pile, pull a blanket over them both as they downed some stew. 

Tomorrow they would be MPs. Tomorrow, they would never have to fight again. Tomorrow they would be safe, warm, together.

 

Jean does not know how long he has been out there. He cannot feel his body. Everything is a haze. In the downpour, he can hear him whisper; in the onslaught he thinks he sees warm, freckled skin, a smiling face.

He leans forward, trying to reach.....

and falls.

Weak, he does not get up. He listens, feels eyes slipping shut. Before the merciful darkness claims him, he feels arms, warmth.

 _‘I’ll follow wherever you lead.’_

 

He wakes to darkness and an empty bed.


End file.
